Arthur in Wonderland
by Neptune1
Summary: Well, it has nothing to do with the title, but I promise you all that it WILL have towels.
1. The Usual Chaos

Arthur in Wonderland  
  
Author's note: Whoo, been awhile since I've written anything. You should all consider yourselves lucky I didn't try for a Ramna ½ spoof. Stay tuned…  
  
Ford Prefect had forgotten how to be fancy.  
All his life, it had been 2nd-class this, and second-rate that, and "no, you can't have that nice table by the window because you're not sober enough to get there." So how, in the name of room service, was he supposed to make a formal speech at a la-de-da place such as the Restaurant at the Beginning of the Universe?  
"Not dressed like that, I can say that much." Arthur Dent nearly swelled with pride at his sudden ability to say something cunning. He then realized no one had asked him anything with which to reply cunningly.  
"Of course, you could never be cunning without the help of a Trelltuther 2000."  
Arthur tried swimming through this new attack of confusion, but he couldn't quite make it to the deep end. He then realized that this series of replies without statements had something to do with mindreading. This realization was helped along by Arthur's prior realization that he could hear Ford wondering if he should get a new toothbrush.  
"So, er, what—"  
"Oh, the Trelltuther 2000 is just something some psychic dislexic genius invented recently. Quite popular. I like it because it allows me to prove people wrong in advance."  
"And uh, where—"  
"The Restaurant at the Beginning of the Universe. Yes, this is different from the one at the end of the universe. No, Zaphod hasn't been banned from this one. Maybe, if you're good."  
Arthur grinned. His last thought had involved dessert, which was about all he cared to care about at the moment.  
"Well then! Time to go. Better take you, too. Last time I left you by yourself I had to search at least three mental wards to find you again." 


	2. Grand Entrance

The Restaurant at the Beginning of the Universe is quite nice, if you go for that sort of thing. That sort of thing is the type where you're so convinced you're going to be impressed that you actually are.  
The window shades are almost an exciting shade of tan. The music is almost more than mediocre. The waiters are almost refined looking. And the owner is almost homicidal.  
Fratricide is all well and good, he had decided, but competition is even better. Sure, his brother had found that fantastic method of entertaining guests with daily phenomena, becoming rich beyond all imagination, and sure, he was at the top of his brother's will…but some half-witted lightbulb had dimmed in the wrong section of his mind, telling him to simply out-do his brother.  
If you ever got a look at The Restaurant at the Beginning of the Universe, you would think that the only thing it could out-do would be a medieval prison. (Which is why Ford Prefect could afford this evening out.)  
At that moment, Ford was getting ready to haul Arthur out to another adventure, also known as dinner. He ahem'd a couple of times, shot a couple of haughty glances at that fiend in the mirror, and put his brand new toothbrush in his pocket for luck. (A sacred tradition in his family, or so he thought, since his family records had a tendency to spontaneously combust.)  
He folded his formal towel neatly and nearly sauntered out the door.  
10 minutes later, he sauntered successfully back into the room. He finally sauntered back out angrily with Arthur's bewilderment in tow.  
After trying to convince a rather flushed and tentacled cab driver that an I.O.U. was a privelege among their people, Ford and Arthur arrived at the Restaurant at the Beginning of the Universe. They creaked their way into the place and stopped. The feeling that something had almost gone wrong hung over their heads in the manner of amused tarantulas. Half the reason for this was the fact that everyone was running in pointless directions and screaming pointless things. The other half was Zaphod Beeblebrox.  
"Zaphod, you're not late. How dissapointing," Ford droned.  
"Only because you are. Shouldn't we be running about or something? Seems to go with the atmosphere." Zaphod had been calmly standing amidst this calamity, obviously waiting for someone to offer him something strong and flavorful.  
Arthur had been calmly surveying the scene. He noticed that someone large and atrocious was doing the same not far away. He decided to ask something like a question.  
"What do you make of all this?"  
The stranger looked up, startled, and tried very hard to hide behind a coat rack.  
"No! Don't look at me! You can't look at me, because it won't work!"  
Arthur switched gears from suspicious to muddled. "But you're right in front of me."  
"Exactly. I should not be right in front of you, seeing as I belong somewhere else."  
"Ah. I see. Not really. Who are you?"  
"My name is Dirk. Oh, but you're not allowed to know that, either." 


End file.
